The Data Core: Dealing with a Large Drive

I have more data than just what’s on my laptop, though. I have movies, anime fansubs, backups of my YouTube videos, and backups of old data. That’s why I set up a 12 TB RAID 5 array connected to a Raspberry Pi running ArkOS.

The RAID 5 array ensures that if any one drive in the array dies, not only does it continue to work, all the data on that drive is still available. I can even replace the drive while it’s running. Plus, it’s not 1-for-1 mirroring, so every drive I add gives me the full capacity of that drive.

Explaining that set-up is a bit outside the scope of this article, but suffice to say: I have a bunch of data on a separate drive.

So I have another set of external drives, which also live at my parents. Every 6 months, I bring those back with me, and run a set of scripts to backup that data, putting all my photos on one drive, all my YouTube data on another, etc.

These are Linux shell scripts; if you’re on Windows, you could download Cygwin and run them in a Cygwin shell. They’re of the following form:

The -r option is recursive (copy folders within folders within folders), the -u option skips files that are newer on the target drive, the -v option displays each file it’s copying, the –ignore-existing option skips files that already exist on the target drive, and the –exclude option skips any hidden files on the source drive.

If you want to do a dry run, which lists every file it plans to copy and a summary of the disk space required but doesn’t actually copy any data, use “-runv” instead of “-ruv”.

It’s rare to come upon a movie that is such a masterful tour-de-force. Faust fires on all cylinders, creating a work that’s innovative, artful, and complete.

Faust’s first few minutes are composed almost entirely of complex special-effects shots, showing angels and demons riding through the air. This in a film made in 1926.

We then see a conversation between an angel and a demon, a bet that any mortal can be corrupted. The bet centers on a pure man, the eponymous Faust, who works tirelessly to cure the Black Death. The devil goes to him and offers him a truly devilish bargain.

Here’s where Faust elevates itself above so many other films. We’re so used to obviously lopsided “devil’s bargains” that we forget how clever they’re supposed to be.

The devil offers a 24 hour test of the devil’s every supernatural power. The devil points out all the good he can do: heal the sick, rescue those in peril, stop wars. Faust agrees, and it works! He heals the sick. Throngs come pleading to him. A girl clutching a cross reaches out to him…and you can see the horror in his eyes as he realizes that he cannot touch her. The crowd around sees this, and they realize his limitation. They spurn him. He rushes back to his house, tries to throw himself from the roof, and the devil intervenes: No! Faust agreed to a 24 hour test, not less!

Again, it’s devilishly brilliant. Of course the devil won’t let him off that easily.

The devil then shows Faust the other things he can do: return to youth! A flight to the other side of the world! Beauty and love! Faust, being human, tries it all. And when the 24 hours are over, you can guess how he responds.

And we’re only halfway into the film.

One of the most pleasant attributes of Faust is the clarity of its presentation. The plot moves with singularity of purpose from high to low, from temptation to revelation. You always know where you are, and you never know where you’re going to go.

I won’t spoil the ending; suffice to say it shocked me and felt perfectly appropriate.

Unfortunately, some of the minor actors fall into the over-the-top affectation of so many silent film actors. However, the leads act with solidity and grace. I felt their emotions.

It’s as though Raj Nidimoru and Krishna D.K. watched the firstHangover movie, looked at each other, and said, “You know what that needed? More zombies.”

I watched Go Goa Gone on my flight back from Japan, so I was in a loopy mood, so my apologies if this review is overly charitable.

Go Goa Gone tells the story of a few brain-daed young Indian men who excitedly decide to crash an ultra-hip party on an island in the ultra-hip Indian state of Goa. They arrive, the party is even crazier than they imagined, drugs pass from person to person (though the protagonists abstain), and everyone falls asleep.

The next day, everyone who took drugs is a zombie.

Cue a comedic zombie survival horror movie. Unlike, say, Shaun of the Dead, which focuses on character relationships and personal journeys, Go Goa Gone is more of a comedic set piece. It’s about the marriage of a college frat boy movie with the constant threat of things trying to eat you.

Fortunately, the film maintains a certain level of intensity, just enough to drive the characters forward and create genuine tension. These people are not in the right frame of mind to fight off zombies, and being Indian, they don’t really know the “rules” of fighting zombies. This provides a clever solution to the problem of characters in a zombie movie acting like they’ve never seen a zombie movie.

The filmmakers were smart enough to keep the horror at the right level of intensity. The movie rarely terrifies, but it delivers a few scenes of characters searching through empty houses where you just know a zombie is going to leap out any second.

The actors deliver wonderfully broad performances, never annoyingly over-the-top but just ridiculous enough to create conflict and generate a few laughs. Even better, there are no song-and-dance routines. I suppose you could count one rave sequence, but it’s…well…a rave sequence, so the actors aren’t square-dancing and looking at the camera.

None of the special effects will shock or horrify. While effective, most of the zombies are just messy-faced extras. While this lack of gore might disappoint some viewers, it also ensures you’ll never be distracted from the on-screen action. These are all simply zombies.

There’s absolutely no depth to the film, other than exploring very bad decisions made by a few characters. Instead, it sends up both party movies and zombie movies, and does so very effectively.

Every so often, I feel a need for a dumb, fun movie. I want a movie that will entertain with flair, not necessarily with spectacle but at least with energy. It’s almost always dumb.

Strippers vs. Werewolves isn’t dumb.

It begins with a very cheap shot of a strip joint exploding in a ball of flame. It then cuts to a long shot of a man entering another strip joint, and as he passes by the various girls scattered around the floor, we get little vignettes for each one. This one trips, that one pushes away a customer, and this other one looks out over the tables with her brows furrowed. For each, a name pops up. We now have a sense of our cast, and we’re 2 minutes in.

I was impressed.

The film then progresses into its main plot. A pack of werewolves roams the streets. They’re basically local mafia, with the added horror that they’ll rip your foot off, then eat it in front of you.

This works partly because it’s a British production. These feel like Shakespearean actors, radiating intense presence. Of course, a few play simple buffoons, but the others…you can feel their history and their desires.

The werewolves soon cross paths with the strippers. This would be a one-sided matter, except that the strip club’s owner knows one of the werewolves. Their history goes way back. This is personal. And it gets even more personal.

The tense nature of the plot is marred somewhat by the special effects. the werewolves look more like punk vampires with mutton chops than beast-men.

Fortunately, the tone frequently bounces out of intensity into a light-hearted parody of its subjects. The werewolves are mostly frat boys, the strippers are mostly not very bright, and one of the strippers’ boyfriends is an overweight, perpetually nervous vampire hunter. One of the movie’s running gags involves phone conversations between the two, as she’s just trying to get a piece of information from him while he’s frantically defending himself from anonymous vampires.

The plot also plays to the lopsided nature of the conflict. The werewolves outmatch the strippers physically and (most of them) intellectually. The strippers have to outwit the werewolves, which only stalls for time. You really wonder how they’re going to get out of it–and they don’t all get out of it–and the ending feels satisfying.

While not high art, and not complex, Strippers vs. Werewolves delivers an alternately tense and light-hearted horror experience.

Today, I awoke comfortable. I felt used to Japan now. It wasn’t home, by any stretch, but it felt familiar.

My plan for today was simple: visit the Imperial Palace, then head over to the fashion disticts of Shibuya and Harajuku. And they were all on the same Yamanote Line.

First, the Imperial Palace. I had already visited a week prior, to discover the Palace was closed on that day. Today, I knew it would be open, and I already knew the way. So I stepped out of Tokyo Station, walked through the financial district, and walked through one of the gates.

I discovered that the Imperial Palace isn’t really there any more. Almost all of the buildings have burned down over the centuries. Only a few guard houses remain, plus the massive stone walls; the rest is acres of gardens and lawn. It’s beautiful, and historical, and well worth an hour or two of walking, but definitely not as striking as I expected.

So I headed back to Tokyo Station and took the train over to Shibuya. This is one of the two biggest fashion districts in Tokyo, and it turns out this is more the formal shopping area. Right outside the station is Shibuya Crossing, a massive intersection where all the pedestrian traffic gets a green light at once. (serial experiments lain fans will recognize it as the place where Mika, Lain’s sister, freaks out).

Shibuya is an experience. Imagine hundreds of people crowding the streets, all showing off their fashion sense. Imagine if about 10% of them have no fashion sense. It’s a carnival of trendy style.

It is also, however, exhausting. If you want to shop for fashion–and there are dozens of large and small stores nearby–it’s heaven. Otherwise, it gets old quickly.

So I walked back to Shibuya Station–passing the statue of Hachiko, a dog who waited patiently for his master at this station every day, even after his master passed away–and took the next stop. I wondered how it would be different.

Gothic Lolita

Harajuku is absurd and insane and wonderful. This is the home of Japanese street fashion, of wild outfits and poofy hair and layers of makeup. Just outside the station, one long street provides two blocks that are absolutely chock full of outlandish fashion, from hot pink sweaters to six-inch platform shoes.

It’s also full of young men who proposition girls for “a little modelling work.” About a dozen of these guys prowled just this two-block stretch of streets.

Further down, the streets turn into quiet shopping districts, still offering the latest fashion but without quite the high pressure.

I awoke early today, before my alarm went off. my mind full of the events of the week. I had only a few days left in Japan.

I’d spent about 45 minutes the night before looking over my plans for Tokyo. Now that I was spending a full day there (tomorrow), plus half the day after before catching my 5:30pm flight, I had options. I would visit the temple and museum complex at Ueno, the Imperial Palace (now that it would be open), and the fashion districts at Shibuya today and tomorrow. I’d spend my final half-day in Akihabara, buying a few final gifts for myself and friends.

Thanks to my early awakening, I arrived at Kyoto Station at 8:15am, over an hour before my train was scheduled to depart. Huge crowds of school students lined the platforms waiting forlornly for their buses, despite the pouring rain.

Unfortunately, most of the shops hadn’t opened yet, so I contented myself with perusing a book shop. I recognized only a few of the manga and light novel titles.

I then wandered into a nearby miniature grocery store and bought a few snacks and a Pocari Sweat for the train ride. Japan truly is a convenient country.

Then up to the platform to wait for my train. A group of the mentally disabled stood nearby, waiting for a train. I looked around to see how they were treated. Most people ignored them, a few stared, and one guy actually took video of them.

However, when their train came, the local train station attendants leapt into action. One checked the cabin to ensure nobody was getting off. Another laid down a small ramp so the wheelchairs could enter the train easily. It was lovely.

My train came about 10 minutes later, and within minutes it was speeding me towards Tokyo. The train ride was uneventful, though I learned a wonderful fact: while the north side of the train faces Mount Fuji, the south side faces the ocean.

I arrived in Tokyo, hopped on the train to Ueno (which was surprisingly full, despite the early hour; only about 12:30pm), and exited the station to find my hotel.

And I was almost immediately lost. I had written down the hotel’s name and address, and had found its approximate location on one of my printed maps. But I didn’t have step-by-step directions. Thankfully, a large map stood outside Ueno Station, which I approached and oriented myself.

About twenty feet away, a man stood on a car, talking into a microphone attached to loudspeakers on the car. I caught the words “America” and “Nihon” and realized it was a political speech. Apparently, they still do them that way. He had a crowd of about three.

I found out where the hotel was supposed to be, a few blocks away, turned, and started walking. It took me a few minutes, but eventually I turned a corner and there it was. Half a block away from the adult video store. Hmmm.

I entered, hoping the guy at the counter could speak passable English. Turns out he was a black guy from Namibia. Not a problem. I was a bit early for checkin, so I left my bag and headed back outside.

Ueno Station sits next to a large park complex that includes several museums and temples. I spent all afternoon there taking pictures of the temples and exploring the museums, which included artifacts from all over East Asia. One pot, for example, is dated to about 10,000 B.C. Wow. Welcome to Asia.

I also threw up in a museum bathroom! Yay for foreign food!

In fact, there’s a story. My stomach was so upset that, when I had my fill of museums and walked around the nearby neighborhoods looking for dinner, I walked right in to a TGI Fridays. I craved normalcy. I ordered a Jack Daniels Burger from a server–who was the only person I talked to during my entire trip who couldn’t speak a word of English–and when it arrived, my stomach practically got on its knees and thanked me. I wolfed it down along with the fries and an iced tea, and my stomach was calm as could be the rest of the night.

I then returned to the hotel to check in. The neighborhood was a bit worrisome, but the hotel lobby was well-furnished. My key came with an eight-inch block of lucite. I got onto the elevator with a hotel staff member who lurched to one side and wheezed the whole way up. We both got off on the same floor, and he turned to me, stared with his good eye, and gargled something in my general direction. I blinked, then he asked where I was going. I showed him my pink block of lucite, and he pointed with his good arm down the hallway. I murmured, “Arigatou,” turned, and saw that he had indeed pointed me to my room.

I entered. It was larger than my room in Kyoto, at least. Though this one had unidentifiable stains on the duvet. And two ads for porn next to the TV. And the window looked out on a giant AC unit that grumbled the whole time I was there.

But you know what? This is part of the adventure. I have only one more full day in Japan. I’m going to make the most of it. Tomorrow: the Imperial Palace and the fashion district.

I explored Kyoto, but found little of interest. I ended up wandering Kyoto Station, which is itself a marvel of engineering. To give you an idea of its scale: the extreme west end of the station consists of a department store that’s 13 floors high. Not just 13 floors up; it goes from floor 1 to floor 13. And that doesn’t even reach the top of the station.

No, at the very top of the station is a sky walk. I ascended, huffing and puffing, and crossed a walk that’s 230 feet above the ground, walking 1,500 feet from one side of the station to the next.

I then wandered the two adjoining shopping malls for gifts. Found some fun things I won’t spoil here.

Honestly, I felt down. I was ready to get home. It’s not that I disliked Japan; I actually felt like I had a handle on it. I only had a few more days before leaving the country. I frankly wanted it to be over with.

So I watched some Japanese television. Hotel TVs only get standard broadcast channels, so I was limited to 7 or 8 channels. Mornings are filled with programs for young children: equivalents of Sesame Street or Blue’s Clues. Even these are, of course, distinctly Japanese. The stories focus on characters making mistakes, then apologizing and re-integrating with their peers.

Afternoons see shows that have no exact American or European equivalent. A few hosts will produce short segments, usually travel-related. They’ll visit a restaurant or a temple or a workplace and see what it’s like. The other hosts are filmed while they watch these segments, and we get to see their reactions (laughing, surprise, etc.).

It shows off Japanese culture very effectively.

Kyoto Station

Evenings are filled with news shows and talk shows. These talk shows are also different. Each episode usually includes either a large number of guests, 10 or 15, or many hosts and a few guests (the one I saw had 7 hosts and 2 guests). Like in the afternoon shows, the guests will watch pre-taped segments and we see their reactions, then the group will discuss it for a few minutes.

These shows usually also include a game show segment, though it’s all for fun. One asked each guest a trivia question with a numerical answer (“How much did the Atlas V rocket cost?”), which the guest had to answer to the correct order of magnitude using buttons that controlled a big display of numbers.

The guests are all celebrities of various degrees. But here’s the interesting effect: because celebrities are already on television so much, they aren’t much in the news. News shows focus on actual news.

There’s a lot of news, too. I’d estimate every channel broadcasts news every 2 hours, plus a full nightly news program lasting an hour or two.

Of course, there are also occasional dramas, comedies, and (occasionally in the afternoon and late at night) anime episodes. But most of the airwaves are full of talk shows.

As I mentioned yesterday, I took a quick walk up to a nearby temple to verify its location. Today, I woke up early and decided to head right up.

For breakfast, I didn’t want to waste time, so I crossed the street to Kyoto Station and popped into the 7–11. I polished off an energy bar and a bottle of milk, then headed north.

Nishi-Honganji

I soon arrived at Nishi-Honganji. It’s hard to get across just how huge it is. According to the placard outside, it’s one of the largest wooden structures in the world. It’s simply tough to build anything this big out of wood. But there it stands, housing a beautiful inner shrine full of gold.

I left to find this temple’s brother. I found the appropriate location, but something was wrong. All I could find was two big warehouses surrounded by a large traditional stone wall.

I explored the wall’s perimeter, turned the ocrner, and found the temple entrance. Those weren’t warehouses. I had found the temple Higashi-Honganji, which is the biggest wooden structure in the world. It was under restoration, so the workers had built a larger building around it.

Fortunately, the adjoining temple was still open to the public, though one had to take off one’s shoes before climbing the giant wooden stairs. This included a new trick: plastic bags were provided, into which you put your shoes, then you carried them around with you, so you couldn’t accidentally put on somebody else’s shoes when you left.

And now I faced the most difficult challenge of the day. My stomach was growing increasingly upset, and I headed to the nearest bathroom. A dozen pairs of public slippers sat at the entrance to the bathroom, which was nice, so I went in and found a (blessedly Western-style) toilet. I sat, and nothing happened. But my stomach grew increasingly upset.

A few minutes later, I stood, turned around, and began throwing up.

I’ve no idea what caused it. I have a sensitive stomach anyway, and as usual, I threw up just a little saliva and bile. Thankfully, nobody else was in the bathroom to hear. I was mortified, but at least it ended quickly.

I headed back outside and sat down on the temple steps for about half an hour. The weather had turned warm but breezy, so I simply luxuriated in the breeze as my stomach settled.

I was determined to enjoy the rest of the day anyway. Maps are posted strategically around the streets of Kyoto, and I saw a few more places to try.

First, Kyoto Aquarium. On the one hand, it was…an aquarium. Fish in tanks. On the other hand, it had lots of weird sea creatures, and the staff happened to be feeding all the animals when I visited. I watched sea lions and dolphins swim and jump for nearly half an hour.

As I mentioned during my Mexican cruise report: a dog looks at you and asks, “What’s next, boss?” A dolphin looks at you and asks, “What’ve you got, human?” They’re friendly, but they treat you as an equal to be indulged.

Shousei-en Garden

I then headed east. Just wandered the city. I saw another traditional wall, went in, and discovered my favorite find in Kyoto: Shousei-en Garden. It’s a samurai mansion and garden, the mansion still maintained but closed to the public, with the garden open for anyone to walk through (with a suggested donation).

Shouse-ein is the classic Japanese garden experience: koi pond, stone bridges, tea house; you name it. Perfectly maintained and easy to explore (though the covered bridge is designed for the Japanese of a hundred years ago, so you’ll have to duck).

Satisfied, I returned to 7–11 for a packaged dinner and bed, figuring I’d wind down.

I switched on the TV and flicked over to the weather. I’d be leaving Japan in a few days, so I wanted to see what to expect. That’s when I saw news of the typhoon scheduled to wrap around Japan for the next few days.

Some rather frantic web surfing later, I discovered an odd fact. Japan’s affect by many typhoons, but few of them do much other than batter a few cities on the extreme coasts. Indeed, the forecast called for only 20%-50% chance of rain in Tokyo for the next few days. The typhoon would brush the west edge of Japan’s main island of Honshu, then head north-east as it calmed into a tropical storm.

I awoke early, at 6:15am, and I’m glad I did. I had plenty of time to stretch, dress, and walk around Kakunodate with my camera before leaving.

Low clouds hung over Kakunodate, and the air held the cool promise of autumn. I returned to the river walk and took more photos, though the diffused light did the river no justice.

Back to the hotel, where I reluctantly gathered my belongings and checked out. I told the staff that this was my first stay at a ryokan, and that it was perfect. Their faces lit up in delight, and one replied, “Please come again!” I answered that I would very much like to.

I strolled back to the Japan Rail station, and encountered a bit of trouble finding the entrance. That’s one disadvantage of these small towns: the signage is meant to blend in, not stand out. I eventually found it, sat for a few minutes, then walked out to the platform to catch the bullet train to Tokyo, whence I would go to Kyoto.

I boarded, and once on the train I checked my ticket for the second leg of my journey, and realized something. The ticket listed the train’s name, not the rail line, and the signs in Tokyo Station list rail lines (once you get to the line, signs list the next few trains). And I only had 20 minutes to make my transfer.

My heart palpitating, I checked my printed records. Bless my printed records, they listed the Tokaido line. The train is at once exciting and dull. I sat there for 4 hours just to get to Tokyo, after all. However, quiet, rural Japanese scenery flashes by all the time.

I arrived in Tokyo station and looked for the Tokaido line. I found it, entered the area, looked up…and my train wasn’t listed. Cue more heart palpitations. I exited and walked up to a JR attendant, which fortunately stand next to every turnstile. I showed her my ticket and asked, in Japanese, where the train was. She said, and suddenly all was clear, “Ah, go down that hall, on the left to the Tokaido Express.”

So. Different line. I headed there and huffed my way up the stairs to the platform, still with 12 minutes to spare. There was the sign proclaiming my train.

With an unclenching gut, I got on board. I’ll skip the description of the rude guy.

I kept my camera on my lap, as I knew the train would pass through some beautiful Japanese countryside. I was right. More than that, after about half an hour, we passed by Mount Fuji. I whipped out my camera, and checked that off my list. Hurrah!

Mount Fuji

I arrived in Kyoto very much ready to find my hotel. I arrived to find that Kyoto Station is huge, vertically as well as horizontally. I felt like I was in a cathedral.

Fortunately, I turned a corner towards an exit, looked out the plate glass window, and saw the name of my hotel on the building across the street. Hallelujah! A short walk over, and a quick query of a local driver because the lobby looked nothing like a lobby, and I was checking in to the Hotel Vista.

My room was the first room I’d had so far that felt truly cramped. The entire room was three feet wider than the bed. The window was a Vista, all right: a vista of the fire escape.

But it was a room with a soft bed and a bathroom. I rested for a few moments, then headed back out to find Nishi-Honganji Temple.

This nicely illustrates one difficulty of Kyoto. Dozens of shrines and temples dot the city. This complicates any attempt to visit more than one; they aren’t clustered.

My printed map indiciated that one, Nishi-Honganji, was two streets away: down one street, then take a right and it was a few blocks away. I decided to prove this, by just finding the temple complex, then returning to my hotel room. I’d fully visit the following day.

To my delight, the map was right. Ten minutes after exiting my hotel, I was snapping pictures of a massive temple complex. Success!

As I walked back to my hotel, I drank in Kyoto. I really like this city. Tokyo has an Eastern US feel: busy, stressed people bustle from one hot spot to another. Kyoto feels more like the American Midwest; it’s more casual and neighborly somehow.

In any event, I had just spent 7 hours on two trains, then explored a foreign city. I needed dinner.

The ground floor of Kyoto Station contains dozens of shops, mainly for tourists who need a last-minute gift or want a traditional meal. Lots of noodles on display.

It also holds a McDonald’s, and I decided to try that out. I ordered a “Chicken Filet’O,” fries, and an iced tea. The tea was green tea, of course. I bit into the sandwich, and my eyes widened. Two reasons: one, it was all dark meat, so more flavorful than ours. Two, it was juicy. Our chicken sandwiches tend towards the dry side; this was positively dripping with juices. Delicious.

I ended up sitting for ten minutes, sipping my drink while slipping surreptitious glances at nearby patrons, willing them to get up and show me how to dispose of my trash. I didn’t see a place for trays, and two employees were wandering around cleaning, but they weren’t disposing of trays. What to do?

Finally the four tweens sitting next to me put away their Nintendo DS’s and took their trays to a hidden platform. Ah-ha! I played the responsible citizen, disposed of my trash and trays, and returned triumphant to my hotel room to get some much-needed sleep.